


Closing Doors

by carolinecrane



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-08
Updated: 2011-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-15 12:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinecrane/pseuds/carolinecrane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with a cup of warm milk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closing Doors

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers up to and including almost all of 2x11.

The first time it happens is just after Christmas. Kurt arrives at Finn’s bedroom door promptly at 10:00 pm with two gently steaming mugs of warm milk, because it’s not a school night, sure, but that’s no excuse for staying up until all hours and spending the next day suffering the indignity of dark circles.

He expects to find Finn alone, angsting about Rachel, most likely, and listening to that awful breakup mix someone made for him. Judging by the amount of classic rock on it, Kurt’s not entirely convinced it wasn't a Christmas gift from Mr. Schuester.

When Kurt arrives at his door, however, Finn’s not listening to music. He’s not even frowning artfully at the ceiling the way he does sometimes. Instead he’s frowning at Puck, and Kurt stops so short that he nearly sloshes warm milk over the cuffs of his new Tom Ford oxford. He manages to rescue his shirt just in time, but when he looks up Finn and Puck are both staring at him as though he’s some kind of alien.

Personally, Kurt prefers to think of himself more as an exotic bird, wings clipped and colorful plumage making him stand out in the dreary Ohio mid-winter. A description which would certainly be lost on his current audience, so Kurt presses his lips together, then pastes on a smile.

“Puck. I had no idea you were here.”

“‘Sup.”

 _Certainly not your conversational skills_ , Kurt thinks, but he keeps that to himself as well. Instead he takes a few steps into the room and hands a mug to Finn, and after a moment’s hesitation sacrifices his own to Puck.

“I thought you boys might enjoy a little nightcap.”

“Thanks, Kurt,” Finn says. He sets his mug on the table next to his bed, but Puck wraps his hands around the mug and breathes in.

“Nightcap? Is it whiskey or something?”

“It’s warm milk,” Kurt answers, arching an eyebrow because honestly, where would he even _get_ whiskey? “It helps you relax so you can get your beauty sleep.”

The noise Puck makes is somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, and Kurt crosses his arms over his chest and draws himself up a little taller.

“Warm milk? What are you, five?"

“It’s delicious,” Kurt says, voice sharp and he crosses his arms a little tighter. “If you can’t appreciate a kind gesture I’ll just take it back.”

“Dude, chill, I didn’t say I didn’t want it.”

He’s still not _drinking_ it, but he’s got his hands wrapped tightly around the mug like he’s really afraid Kurt’s going to try to snatch it back. Kurt’s never actually looked at Puck’s hands before, though he knows what they feel like. It’s kind of...strange, and Kurt frowns at them for another second before he clears his throat and snaps his attention back to the present moment and not the memory of Puck's hands on his arms as he lifts Kurt to toss him in the dumpster.

“Well,” he says, cheeks flushing suddenly and he just hopes they’re both too clueless to notice, “I’ll leave you boys to...whatever it is you’re doing.”

“See you, Kurt,” Finn calls after him. Puck doesn’t say anything, but Kurt has the strangest notion that he can feel Puck’s gaze weighing heavy on his back as he leaves the room.

~

The next time it happens is nearly a week later, and really, Kurt's so distracted about school and Blaine and his family that he’s barely thought about that brief, bizarre exchange with Puck. He’s seen Puck since then, just once in passing, as Puck was going and he was coming on Wednesday after school. It takes Kurt so long to get home from Dalton, especially if he has to stay late to rehearse, that he’s running late for dinner and not looking where he’s going, which is how he almost collides with Puck on his way out Kurt’s front door.

Then again, it’s not as though Kurt’s expecting to find Puck on his front step, so he bristles and doesn’t apologize for the near collision. Puck, for his part, simply raises an eyebrow, gives Kurt that strange lopsided smirk that conjures the vague, mingled smells of rotting cafeteria food and pencil shavings in his sense memory, and nods at him.

“‘Sup, Hummel,” he says, then he brushes past Kurt and he’s probably not even trying to press their shoulders together, but Kurt flinches anyway and braces himself for a body check. When it doesn't come he exhales a slow breath, then he reminds himself that Puck doesn’t do that sort of thing anymore. Not since he joined Glee, and it doesn’t make up for all the times he _did_ do that sort of thing, but Kurt supposes he should appreciate that Puck’s making an effort.

So when he arrives at Finn’s room -- promptly at 10:00 pm -- on Friday evening and finds Puck straddling Finn’s desk chair, he doesn’t flinch or roll his eyes or even do a double take. He just hands over Finn’s mug, then he turns to Puck and raises one eyebrow in question.

“Thanks, dude,” Puck says, grinning at him...well, the way he grins at Rachel when they sing together. Like he actually _likes_ her, which Kurt knows for a fact is sort of true. It’s a little unnerving, having that same grin turned on himself for the first time, but Kurt does his best not to let it show.

“You’re welcome,” is all he says, then he turns and heads back to the kitchen to heat up some more milk.

He’s in his room, sipping from his own mug and flipping through the latest _Vogue_ when he hears a knock on the door, and before he even says ‘come in’ the door swings open and Puck’s sort of _slouching_ into the room. Which is, admittedly, a sight Kurt never thought he’d witness, so he feels he can be excused for staring with his mouth sort of hanging open as Puck pulls out the chair in front of his vanity and swings it around so he can straddle it.

“Hey,” Puck says, lifting his mug and watching Kurt over the rim as he swallows. “This isn’t as gross as I expected.”

“I’m so thrilled,” Kurt says, the article he’d been reading on Sarah Jessica Parker and her line of hideous sweatshop-produced leggings forgotten because _Puck’s in his room_ , and that must be one of the signs of the apocalypse. “You might consider waiting for an answer after you knock, you know.”

“I just saw you like ten minutes ago,” Puck points out, and Kurt gets the vague impression that he’s being laughed at. "Figured it was a pretty safe bet you weren’t in here jerking off already. Unless you saw something you liked in Finn’s room.”

Kurt narrows his eyes and doesn’t dignify that with a response, because honestly, just because Puck’s using actual words instead of just grunting these days, that doesn’t mean he’s suddenly any less crude.

“What do you want?” he says instead, glancing down at his magazine and flipping a page, just so Puck will know he’s got better things to do with his Friday evening. Sort of.

He catches Puck’s shrug in his peripheral vision, a blur of tan skin and olive green and Kurt glances up to find Puck still grinning at him. He feels the heat spread up his neck and into his cheeks, and he rolls his eyes at himself and glances back down at an ad for Dolce & Gabbana’s new line of sunglasses.

"Just figured I’d say hey,” Puck says, and Kurt finds it truly pathetic that he can _hear_ the grin in Puck’s voice. “How’s life at Dalton?”

He looks up again, magazine forgotten and he realizes he’s staring, but he can hardly be expected to keep up an air of nonchalance when Puck just asked him a...well, a civilized question. And he actually looks interested in the answer, as though they’re friends or something. Which Kurt knows for a fact they definitely aren’t, unless he’s fallen down some sort of rabbit hole in the past hour.

"Safe,” he hears himself say, cheeks burning again but he doesn’t let himself look away.

To Puck’s credit he doesn’t laugh or say something awful. Instead he nods and looks right back at Kurt for a full ten seconds before he says, “Good.”

Kurt considers him for a moment, watching while Puck turns his mug in his hands and then lifts it to his mouth and drains it. Years of experience tell him that Puck has to have an angle; he must want _something_ , only Kurt couldn’t possibly have anything that Puck wants. Unless Rachel sent him over to spy on the Warblers, but of all the people she could send, the least likely of them all is the one sitting in front of him.

"I never had a chance to say thank you,” Kurt says, clearing his throat and looking down at his own hands for a second. “For offering to look out for me, if I hadn’t transferred to Dalton. That was generous of you. Unexpected, certainly, but...nice.”

Puck shrugs and stands up, and when Kurt realizes he’s leaving he has to swallow a little jolt of something that feels sort of like regret. “You’re my boy now, Hummel. I’ve got your back.”

Then he’s gone, and Kurt’s so busy trying to figure out what ‘you’re my boy’ means that he forgets to be annoyed that Puck didn’t put his chair back.

~

The third time, Puck doesn’t wait for a delivery. Kurt’s still warming the milk on the stove when the kitchen door opens, and he glances over his shoulder, expecting to find Carole or maybe his dad. Instead he finding himself blinking at Puck, taking in the flannel button-down and the hideous baggy jeans and the body that makes the tragic fashion almost forgivable.

“Hey,” Puck says, leaning forward without really moving, like maybe he’s trying to get a glimpse of what’s in the pan. “You making that stuff again?”

Kurt nods, glances down at the pan to make sure he hasn’t curdled the milk and then looks back up at Puck. “I didn’t realize you were here. I’ll add some more.”

“You know Finn doesn’t even like that stuff, right?”

Kurt blinks at him again, then he frowns and turns the heat down a little. “Of course he does. I’ve brought him a mug every night since we moved into the house and he’s never once complained.”

Puck shrugs and drops into a chair at the kitchen table, legs stretched out in front of him and when Kurt catches himself following the line of Puck’s body he forces his eyes back to Puck’s face. He’s smirking, of course, but Kurt can’t tell if it’s because of the warm milk or if it’s because Puck caught him looking.

Kurt blushes anyway and reaches into the cabinet for two mugs, back to Puck while he listens to him talking.

“Yeah, because he was kind of a dick and he’s still trying to make it up to you or whatever. He says he feels bad because you go to the trouble and he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Puck clearly has no qualms about hurting Kurt’s feelings, but that’s no surprise. Still, it’s not his fault Finn’s been lying to Kurt since they officially became brothers, so there’s no reason to take it out on him. Kurt frowns down at the mug in his hand for a minute, then he sighs and picks up the other one. He carries them both to the table and sets them down, and when Puck pulls one toward him Kurt looks at him.

“You don’t live here; you don’t have to drink it to spare my feelings.”

“Dude, I didn’t say _I_ didn’t like it,” Puck says. “It’s kind of growing on me, actually. It’s sort of relaxing, you know?”

Kurt nods and manages a smile, then he picks up his own mug and blows on the surface of the milk. “My mom used to make me warm milk before bed.”

When he steals another glance across the table Puck doesn’t look all that surprised, which makes Kurt feel at once sort of childish and also kind of predictable. But Puck’s not laughing at him or calling him a baby, so Kurt shrugs and smiles into his mug.

“She’d give me warm milk and then ask me about my day, then she’d tell me about hers, and by the time we were through my dad would be standing in the door to my bedroom listening. Then they’d both tuck me in and I always fell asleep knowing that they loved me. Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to force that on Finn, but I thought maybe if we talked about our days every night...it wouldn’t seem so much like I wasn’t part of your lives anymore, you know?”

Puck raises an eyebrow at him, and Kurt blushes, but he doesn’t look away. “Yes, even you, Puckerman, not that you need the ego boost. I wanted to hear about Glee and the football team and all the stupid stuff I was missing. I thought it might help me feel connected, in some small way.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should have led with that when you started trying to get cozy with Finn. He thinks you want somebody to talk about your boy troubles with.”

“Boy...” Kurt flushes nearly the exact shade of Puck’s red flannel shirt when he realizes what Puck’s talking about. “As though...of all the people I’d choose to confide in.”

“That’s what I tried to tell him,” Puck says, and when Kurt ventures another glance at him Puck’s smirking. “I mean, who’s gonna take relationship advice from Hudson, right? Talk about a two-time loser.”

Puck’s smile falters, just for a second before he recovers, but Kurt knows what happened between Puck and Rachel before Christmas, so he doesn’t have to ask. He never expected to see Puck looking guilty about it, though, and he raises an eyebrow and takes another sip of milk.

“Well, you can assure Finn that I don’t need any advice.”

He leaves out the part about not needing it because he doesn’t have a relationship to discuss. He and Blaine are friends, certainly, and there are... _moments_ , but so far they’ve led to a whole bunch of nothing, and Kurt should be used to it by now, but somehow it’s no less frustrating to be rejected by a gay boy than it is to be rejected by a straight one.

“You sure?” Puck says, and there goes that eyebrow again, the one that makes Kurt smile in spite of himself. “Because I’m kind of an expert.”

“Please, what do you know about relationships? Maybe if I wanted sex advice.”

Puck’s other eyebrow goes up, slowly, like he’s never really considered discussing sex with Kurt before, but he’s sort of warming up to the idea. And there’s still nothing to discuss, but that doesn’t stop Kurt from blushing either.

Before he can embarrass himself further Puck’s standing up, then his hand’s on the back of Kurt’s chair and when he leans in Kurt’s heart actually stops for a second. “Yeah, well, if you need any of that, you know where to find me.”

He straightens up and slides his empty mug toward Kurt, still smirking as he backs toward the kitchen door. “Thanks for the nightcap, Kurt.”

A second later he’s gone, and Kurt wants to call him back, to think of some excuse to get him to stay, just until Kurt figures out if he was offering advice, or the actual sex. But getting Puck to come back means following him up to Finn’s room and admitting that he kind of _likes_ talking to Puck, and if he can’t even admit that, how’s he ever going to figure out if he’s more terrified by the thought of sex and Puck than he is turned on?

~

It’s when he walks into his living room and finds Puck engaged in a spirited conversation with his father that Kurt knows something strange is going on. Mainly because he knows for a fact that Finn isn’t home, that he won’t be home until much later, so Puck’s the last person Kurt expected to find on his couch.

“Hey, son, didn’t hear you come in,” Burt says, glancing away from what sounds like an argument about the merits of Mellencamp's catalog versus Led Zeppelin’s. Burt’s grinning sort of distractedly, and Kurt pushes down a familiar surge of jealousy, because he’s not going to spend his whole evening analyzing who exactly he’s jealous of in this particular scenario.

Puck follows Burt's line of sight until he spots Kurt, mouth curving into that feral grin of his and just for a second Kurt forgets how to breathe. Then Puck stands up, and Kurt frowns at the sight of him shaking Burt’s hand and promising to pick up the discussion where they left off the next time he comes by.

It doesn’t necessarily mean anything; Puck could be leaving, now that his great debate’s been interrupted. Surely he came to see Finn, and now that Puck knows he’s not here, he’ll go home and...do whatever it is he does. Except when Kurt turns toward the stairs Puck’s right on his heels, and when Kurt stops at his bedroom door Puck stops right next to him.

“Finn’s not home,” Kurt says, and he’s aware that he sounds sort of nervous, but Puck’s never been one for subtlety, so he probably doesn’t even notice.

“Dude, chill, you sound like you’re about to have a heart attack or something,” Puck says, proving at once that he _does_ recognize subtlety now and then, and that he’s still an insensitive jackass. Then he winces and glances toward the stairs. “Sorry.”

And okay, the apology was unexpected, but Kurt doesn’t answer. Instead he shrugs and pushes his bedroom door open, dropping his bag on the bed and pulling his coat off before he turns to look at Puck again. Puck who’s already settled in Kurt’s chair, arms folded on the back of it and watching Kurt like he’s not planning to go anywhere any time soon.

“Seriously, what are you doing here?”

“I had a little time to kill, figured we could hang out,” Puck answers, like that’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. Like they do things like ‘hang out’. Like they even exist in the same social stratosphere. They’ve had exactly two conversations since Kurt left McKinley, and one of them barely lasted five minutes.

“You want to hang out with me.”

“Why not?”

Kurt clears his throat and doesn’t point out that they have absolutely nothing in common. There’s Glee, sure, and Kurt wouldn’t mind talking about that, because Finn never tells him anything. He gets some of the gossip from Mercedes and Tina and Rachel, but between school and rehearsals and separate friends, none of them seem to have much time these days. They certainly don’t show up at his house and hang out with his dad while they wait for Kurt to get home.

He watches Puck for another second, then he shrugs and says, “I suppose I could spare a little time.”

“Cool,” Puck says, and the thing is, he looks like he means it. He’s smiling, anyway, leaning forward in Kurt’s chair and resting his chin on his folded arms and when he sits like that, he looks less like some sort of wild animal and more like the kid he really is.

“Finn says the football team’s a lock for State this year.”

“Yeah,” Puck says, smile turning up a notch or two, and it’s not the first time Kurt’s ever seen him look proud about something, but it’s the first time Kurt’s let himself appreciate what it does for Puck’s face. “It’s all the Beiste, though. At first I was as weirded out as the next guy about having a chick coach, but she kicks more ass than most of the dudes I know.”

Kurt’s sitting on the edge of his bed, legs crossed in front of him and his hands folded carefully, far too aware of Puck’s eyes on him and it’s strange, because he thinks he should be nervous, but he’s not. Not for the reasons he probably should be, at any rate, and he’s not thinking about the other reason Puck’s presence in his bedroom might make him nervous.

“So how’s it going with your boy?” Puck asks, and Kurt blinks and drags his attention forcibly back to the real live Puck who’s sitting in front of him and not the Puck in his imagination, the one who grins like a predator and looks way too good in that stupid letter jacket.

“How’s what going?”

“Dude, come on, I’m not going to freak out if you talk about your boyfriend,” Puck says, rolling his eyes as though Kurt just accused him of being a homophobe or something. Which he is, last time Kurt checked. “Finn told me about that dude you’re hooking up with. It’s cool.”

“I’m not hooking up with anyone,” Kurt says, looking anywhere but at Puck, and seriously, if Finn ever listened to a word he said, Kurt wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. "Finn appears to be misinformed.”

“Oh.” Puck frowns for a second like he can’t decide if Kurt’s holding out on him, so Kurt doesn’t point out that even if he _were_ dating Blaine, Kurt wouldn’t talk to Puck about it. “But you like it there, right?”

“Of course,” Kurt says, which isn’t the whole truth, granted, but he’s fairly sure Puck doesn’t want to hear about embarrassing unrequited crushes, no matter what he says, and he’d never understand what it’s like to constantly look over your shoulder waiting for the next attack, so Kurt doesn’t bother telling him how nice it is not to have to do that for once.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the concern, but why do you care?”

For a few beats Puck just looks at him, watching Kurt like maybe he’s trying to decide if he’s telling the truth about how great Dalton is. And he is, mostly, but he’s been honest with Puck about missing New Directions and his friends at McKinley, too.

“Because it’s my fault you’re there,” Puck finally says, frowning again like he’s trying to figure out what he’s missing, and Kurt knows the feeling.

“And exactly how do you figure that?”

“If I’d gone to spy on them instead of you, you wouldn’t have fallen for some gay dude and you’d still be at McKinley where you belong.”

It’s true, at least in theory. Puck certainly wouldn’t have been swayed by the promise of strict anti-bullying policies and the fact that he could just be himself without having to worry about being tortured for it. Then again, the more time Kurt spends talking with him lately, the more he wonders if maybe Puck might discover he liked it, if he ever bothered to try being someone other than the person he’d been at McKinley for so long.

“You realize how ridiculous that is, right?” Kurt asks. “The only person to blame for me leaving is that disgusting excuse for a human being Dave Karofsky. If it hadn’t been Dalton it would have been somewhere else, Puck. I couldn’t stay.”

Puck nods and lets out a sigh, then he looks down at the floor between them, and it’s weird, because for a few seconds Kurt can almost believe that he actually _cares_.

“You know, dude, Karofsky’s an asshole and all, but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t really try to kill you.”

It’s not the first time he’s wanted to tell someone the truth. He wanted to tell his dad, he wanted to tell Coach Sylvester. He wanted to tell Principal Figgins and Karofsky’s father and the entire Glee club. He wants to tell Puck now, just to make him understand why Kurt didn’t have a choice. But if he does, either Puck will believe him and go pound Karofsky and get himself thrown back in Juvie, or even worse, Puck won’t believe him, and he won’t want to hang out anymore.

“He meant it,” Kurt says instead, and he doesn’t know if Puck believes him, but he doesn’t try to argue, at least.

“Yeah, well, if you did decide to come back, I’d have your back. You know that, right? You’re my boy now.”

“You keep saying that,” Kurt says, frowning so he won’t sigh and give away how relieved he is to stop talking about Karofsky. “What does it even mean?”

“It means nobody fucks with you without answering to me,” Puck answers, and for a second he looks so fierce, so much like the Puck Kurt spent most of his freshman year actively avoiding, that he has to suppress a shudder. He's had that ferocity directed _at_ him before, but it's never been _because_ of him, and there's something about it that's unbearably hot.

Which makes Kurt quite possibly the most predictable person he knows, because the last person in the entire state of Ohio -- possibly the world -- he should be crushing on is Puck, and yet.

Yet Puck’s attractive, a fact that Kurt’s always known, and he’s charming when he wants to be, even though they both know full well exactly how much of that charm is sincere. He’s being sincere now, though, at least as far as Kurt can tell, and the fact that he’s not trying to get into Kurt’s pants makes it a little easier to believe.

“That’s very noble of you, Puck,” he says, but he’s not quite meeting Puck’s intense gaze anymore. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Puck says, then he stands up and takes a few steps forward, and Kurt is not going to panic, because Noah Puckerman is not about to come on to him. Then Puck does touch him, but it’s just a hand on his shoulder, an awkward squeeze before he lets go. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

Puck doesn’t wait for an answer, and when he’s gone Kurt lets out a breath and falls back on his mattress and wonders when, exactly, he became friends with _Puck_.

~

 _Voulez-vous, cher maitre, que mon fils signe tout de suite l'acceptation?_

“Seriously, what the hell does that even mean?”

Kurt’s too busy laughing at Puck’s atrocious accent to answer his question right away. And he feels bad for laughing -- he does -- but he can hardly help it. Puck can barely speak English on a good day, after all, and listening to him try to read French...well, it’s funny. Sweet and sort of ridiculous, but funny.

Puck’s kind of sprawled on his bed, and Kurt’s not sure when they went from polite conversations about Glee and Dalton and why Kurt’s not coming back to McKinley to Puck on his bed -- shoes _off_ , thank you very much -- with Kurt’s French book propped open on his chest, squinting at the page and doing his best to read words he doesn’t understand, all so Kurt won’t kick him out in favor of studying for the test he has in the morning.

Not that Kurt really needs to study all that much, but what Puck doesn’t know isn’t going to hurt him. And he couldn’t say why he’s torturing Puck, really, other than the fact that Kurt’s sort of curious to see how far he’ll go.

He’s not expecting anything from Puck, not romantically. He’s been telling himself that since the night Puck touched his shoulder and referred to them as friends, but he’s not sure how much he’s really taking it to heart. Which is hardly his fault, considering Puck keeps showing up randomly and very much unannounced to talk to him about...well, everything and nothing, really.

He tells Kurt what’s going on at McKinley, describes Mr. Schuester’s wardrobe choice of the day in loving detail, then wonders aloud if Schue’s sweater vests have any correlation to how freaky he is in the sack until Kurt’s shrieking in a manner he’d never admit is kind of girlish and smacking Puck with a pillow until he stops. Once Kurt finally manages to quit picturing things he really doesn’t want to picture, Puck asks Kurt about Dalton, about his classes and the Warblers and his ‘boy’. He’s never once said Blaine’s name, though Finn knows it, and Kurt’s said it in front of Puck often enough that he has to know it too.

Every time it comes up Kurt insists that Blaine isn’t his anything, save maybe his friend, and when he points out that that puts Blaine on the same level as Puck, he gets a weird little frown and then a few minutes of silence before Puck’s off on another subject entirely. Usually something about Rachel’s latest tirade, or if he’s feeling really sadistic, he’ll tell Kurt about how Schue and Coach Beiste have been hanging out together a lot lately, and Coach Sylvester’s been looking more murderous than usual, and wouldn’t _that_ be a freaky love triangle.

And then Kurt has to shut him up with a pillow, and the whole thing starts all over again.

Kurt’s still bringing mugs of warm milk to Finn most nights, just to torture him, because if he can’t man up and be honest with his own brother, then he deserves what he gets. When Puck’s around Kurt ditches Finn in favor of someone who actually appreciates the gesture, and so far Finn hasn’t asked why. But Kurt still has to hear about the football team’s meltdown from Rachel and Mercedes, because Finn never tells him anything, and Puck doesn’t come around all that often. Not every night, certainly, and sometimes not even every week.

Kurt doesn’t ask what Puck’s doing on the nights he’s not hanging out at Kurt’s house, mostly because he really doesn’t want to know. Maybe that makes him selfish. Maybe it makes him a bad friend, even, but he’s pretty sure this ‘friendship’ of theirs isn’t the kind that involves conversations about why Puck spends so much time undervaluing himself with booze and unprotected sex and his delinquent friends.

Puck clears his throat, dragging Kurt back to the reality that they _are_ the kind of friends who hang out on his bed on a Wednesday night doing Kurt’s French homework. Apparently.

 _”Voulez-vous, cher maitre,”_ Puck tries again, wrapping his lips around each word like he’s trying to get a feel for them on his tongue. _”Que mon fils signe tout de suite l'acceptation?”_

“Better,” Kurt says, then he reaches out and pulls the book out of Puck’s hands. “It means something like, “Dear sir, please sign this acceptance for my son immediately.”

Puck’s looking at him like he doesn’t really think that’s much help, and Kurt doesn’t really blame him. But Puck’s the one who insisted on hanging around watching Kurt _study_ , so it’s his own fault if he accidentally learns something.

“Surely you’ve heard the phrase ‘tout de suite’ before. People say it all the time.”

“Not in Lima, they don’t,” Puck says, and Kurt has to admit he’s probably got a point.

“Well it means to do something right away. Like when you say ‘I’ll get right on that’.”

“So why not just say ‘I’ll get right on that’ instead?” Puck asks, raising an eyebrow, and Kurt can’t help smirking.

“That’s what you _are_ saying, if you’re French.”

He expects Puck to get mad, maybe accuse Kurt of making fun of him. Instead he grins and reaches out to take the book back, then he shuts it and tosses it on the bed. “Dude, you don’t need to study that stuff. You’re, like, ready to pack up and move to Rome.”

“Paris.”

“Wherever.”

“Rome’s in Italy,” Kurt says, but Puck’s still grinning, so Kurt grins right back at him. “But you’re right, I’ve probably done as much as I can to prepare.”

“Good,” Puck says, stretching and burrowing a little further into Kurt’s pillows, as though he’s just been waiting for Kurt’s undivided attention. The thought makes Kurt’s heart skip a beat, and that is so not okay, because it’s one thing for his dick to take an interest, but his heart’s not involved in this at all.

“Are you nervous about the game?”

It’s the first time he’s brought it up since Puck showed up unannounced on his doorstep. He’s pretty sure Finn’s right down the hall freaking out about it himself, and at first Kurt expected Puck to give him an apologetic look and brush right past him on his way to a strategy session in Finn’s room. So it was sort of a surprise to find himself following Puck back to his own room, then watching Puck tossing himself on Kurt’s bed like this wasn’t the kind of thing he would have happily kicked any member of the team’s ass for just last year.

Puck shrugs against Kurt’s pillows. “Not much to be nervous about. We know we’re gonna get killed.”

Kurt wants to argue, to suggest that maybe the entire opposing team will be struck with food poisoning, or maybe their bus will crash on the way to the game. But he’s pretty sure fantasizing about unlikely catastrophes won’t help, so instead he gives Puck a sympathetic smile. “At least you don’t have to forfeit?”

“Yeah,” Puck says, then he grins and lets out a little laugh. “Man, those chicks are something, huh? We’re still gonna get murdered out there, but damn.”

He pauses and pushes himself up on his elbows to look at Kurt. “You know, if you hadn’t fucked off to Dalton we might actually have a chance, even without half the team.”

“Please,” Kurt says, mouth turned down in a frown that’s probably going to leave him prematurely wrinkled, but that’s just fighting dirty. “What could I do?”

“Are you kidding? You’re the best kicker we’ve ever had, Kurt, even with all the gay dancing. When you quit the team I think Coach Tanaka actually cried.”

Kurt’s only answer is a sound that’s definitely not a snort, but he can feel his cheeks heating up, and when he risks another glance at the head of the bed, he finds Puck grinning at him.

“You know, Hummel, you’re kind of being a shitty host here. You haven’t even offered me a drink.”

He rolls his eyes and doesn’t bother pointing out that Puck knows perfectly well where the kitchen is, and anyway he hardly qualifies as company anymore. Instead he climbs off the bed and doesn’t look back to watch Puck unfold himself from Kurt’s mattress and follow him to the kitchen. He doesn’t watch Puck drop into a chair at the kitchen table to watch Kurt pull out a saucepan and the milk, and he doesn’t glance over his shoulder while he waits for it to heat up and blush when he finds Puck still grinning at him.

~

The game...well, the first half’s kind of a disaster, granted. Then Tina almost dies, and Kurt had no idea she had it in her, but he’s weirdly proud of his loser friends for being so awkwardly, pathetically awesome.

The halftime show’s typical Schue -- fun and a little obvious and pretty much perfect, considering -- and when Finn gets to be the hero by _not_ being the hero, Kurt’s just happy for him that something went his way for once.

He’s not really expecting to see Puck that night. He’s with Blaine, after all, and Puck’s probably got all that testosterone coursing through him and already on his way to alcohol poisoning and random acts of idiotic violence. So it’s a surprise when Kurt hears someone calling his name as he’s waiting with Blaine on the sidelines, and when Kurt looks up and spots Puck still in full zombie makeup, he doesn’t try to fight his smile.

Puck’s answering grin looks sort of strange when he’s made up to look like one of the legions of undead, but he looks happy, maybe happier than Kurt’s ever seen him, and it’s a good look for him.

“You guys were amazing out there,” Kurt says when Puck gets close enough to hear him over the crowd, and he’s aware that he sounds weird and sort of breathless, but he can’t make himself stop talking. “Not that I know much about football…I mean, sure, I played a little, but I never actually paid attention to all those little drawings Coach Tanaka was always going on about. Mostly I spent practice choreographing new dance moves in my head. But the halftime show was great, and the game was really exciting, and...oh, Puck, this is my friend Blaine.”

Kurt grips Blaine’s arm and sort of drags him forward, and Blaine smiles in that way that tells Kurt he’s being laughed at and holds out his hand to Puck. “Hi.”

Just like that Puck’s smile is gone, sliding right off his face and in its place is the sullen kind of expression Kurt used to see on Puck’s face when he was giving Quinn the thousand yard stare. For a second he just stares down at Blaine’s hand, then he looks up and doesn’t take it.

“’Sup.”

It’s rude, certainly, which isn’t all that surprising from Puck, but Kurt’s too confused about the fact that just the sight of Blaine is enough to wipe the smile off Puck’s face to remember to scold him for his lack of manners. Then Puck’s backing away, helmet at his side and not quite looking at Kurt.

“I gotta get back, the guys want to go out and celebrate. Just thought I’d say hey.”

He’s gone before Kurt can answer, but he tells himself it’s just as well, because he has no idea what to say. _Puck, wait_ would hardly do him any good, and _stop being a jerk for a second, please_ would just get him a scowl and some defensive comeback he doesn’t really want to hear. Or maybe he just doesn’t want Blaine to hear, and that’s the most confusing part of all, because if it was anyone else, Kurt might think they were...jealous.

“Nice guy,” Blaine says, and Kurt frowns and glances to his left to find Blaine staring after Puck with a bemused look on his face.

“He is, it’s just...” But that’s the thing, because Puck’s _not_ really nice, and Puck’s never cared that he’s not. He’s just Puck, and the one thing Kurt’s learned during the course of their friendship is that you take him as is. He sort of grows on you, Kurt thinks, and that’s not something he can explain to Blaine.

“Manners have never been his strong point,” Kurt says, forcing a smile and turning away from the sight of Puck’s retreating back. “But he’s not so bad, once you get to know him.”

~

Blaine doesn’t hang around for long after the game, and for once Kurt’s grateful. He’s distracted and sort of jumpy and he keeps picturing Puck’s face when Kurt introduced Blaine, the way his smile faded and his eyes darkened, the way he pulled back into himself so forcefully that Kurt could almost feel him moving. Once Blaine leaves Kurt makes his excuses to his dad and Carole and goes to bed early, doesn’t wait up for Finn because he doesn’t really want to hear a rehash of the post-game celebration.

He’s not sure what time it is when he wakes to the feeling of his mattress dipping next to him, then a warm, solid body presses against his side and Kurt tenses before he’s really awake and scrambles backwards. He doesn’t even realize he’s panicking until he hears a familiar voice say, “Dude, move over,” and relief floods him so hard his hands shake against the sheet where he’s twisting it into a mess of wrinkles.

“Puck?”

“Yeah, who’d you think it was?” Puck says, and when Kurt doesn’t answer Puck shifts in the dark and then the air moves in front of him and he can almost make out the outline of Puck’s face. “Seriously, Kurt, who’d you think it was?”

“No one,” Kurt answers, which is true, mostly, but it doesn’t make this whole situation any less embarrassing. “Given the fact that random people don’t generally climb into my bed in the middle of the night, I was startled, that's all. What do you think you’re doing, anyway?”

“Your bed’s bigger than Hudson’s, and I didn’t want to crash on the floor,” Puck answers, but Kurt hears the suspicion in his voice. Kurt’s eyes adjust to the dark a little and he can see Puck now, frowning at him from far too close and Kurt realizes that he’s pressed back against the headboard. Cowering, sort of, which is humiliating and frustrating and mostly it makes him want to kill Karofsky.

“Are you drunk?” Kurt asks, easing away from the headboard as gracefully as possible, and he’s glad it’s too dark in his room for Puck to see the flush in his cheeks and the panic that’s probably showing in his eyes.

“No. Yeah. A little. I had a couple beers with the guys and it hits a lot harder when you haven’t been drinking for awhile. Stop changing the subject,” Puck says, then he shakes his head like maybe he really is a little drunk. “Kurt, did Karofsky...is that what happened? Did he put his hands on you?”

And he is so not having this conversation, not in the dark while Puck’s in his _bed_ , for pity’s sake, as though he has any right to be there. As though Kurt’s father wouldn’t kill him if he walked in right now. Except that they’re not _doing_ anything, and as far as Kurt knows, Puck doesn’t want to. Then a hand lands on his shoulder, and Kurt’s glad he pulled on a pair of pajamas instead of just sleeping in his underwear.

“Did he?”

He hears the fierceness in Puck’s voice, and he’s not proud of the shiver that rolls through him at the sound. He’s not proud of much, at the moment, but he finds himself nodding, then shaking his head immediately.

“No. He didn’t...nothing happened, really. But I think he would, if he got the chance.”

The hand on his shoulder tightens hard enough to be a little uncomfortable, just for a second before Puck takes a deep breath and lets go. He mutters something under his breath that Kurt doesn’t catch, then he runs a hand over his head and this is officially the weirdest moment of Kurt’s life.

“He won’t get the chance. You know that, right?”

Kurt’s tempted to ask why Puck cares, but he knows that’s not fair. Puck’s done a lot of terrible stuff in his life, and he probably doesn’t even feel that bad about most of it. But he’s never done anything like _that_ , and Kurt knows he wouldn’t. He trusts Puck; he can’t even say why, but there it is anyway.

“Look, do you want me to go?” Puck asks, but he’s not moving to get out of Kurt’s bed, and the fact that he doesn’t want to leave makes Kurt feel better somehow.

“You can stay,” Kurt says, frowning in the darkness and forcing himself to relax enough to ease back down onto his side. “But if you start snoring I’m pushing you off the bed.”

Puck’s laugh is muffled by the pillow, and Kurt turns to catch a glimpse of Puck already sprawled on his stomach. He lets himself look, just for a second, but when Puck moves he closes his eyes tight and forces his breathing to even out.

He lies awake for a long time, and when he wakes up he’s not surprised to find Puck already gone.

~

Kurt assumes that waking up to an empty bed instead of a snoring Puck and an awkward conversation means that he won't be seeing Puck for awhile. So he’s surprised, just a couple days later, to come home from school and hear Puck’s voice coming from upstairs. He hears Finn’s voice too, and they’re yelling about something, so Kurt doesn’t stop to take his coat off before he hurries up the stairs to Finn’s bedroom.

By the time he gets there Puck’s in the hallway, his expression stormy and his hands clenched into fists. Finn’s in his doorway, face red and he looks angry too, angry and maybe a little confused.

“Dude, what’s your problem?” Finn says, which turns out to be the wrong thing to say, because Puck lets out a sound that can only be described as a growl, then he’s turning and pushing past Kurt without even looking at him.

“What’s going on here?” Kurt asks, and when he turns on Finn he watches his brother sort of deflate right in front of him. The fight just rushes right out of him, and it’s a little strange, but Kurt’s just grateful Finn's not going to start yelling at him too.

“Sorry,” Finn says, though Kurt has no idea what he’s apologizing for. “I don’t even know what happened. I mean, it’s not like I would have done anything without talking to you first.”

“What are you talking about?”

For a second Finn looks sort of sheepish, like maybe he doesn’t want to admit whatever it is that upset Puck. Then he shrugs and sticks his hands in his pockets, and Kurt hates himself a little for still finding that gesture sort of endearing.

“Karofsky. He was pretty good, Kurt, you should have seen him. He picked up the dance moves faster than any of the other guys, and he’s even got a decent voice. I think maybe he even enjoyed it a little, you know?”

Kurt’s stomach drops at the mention of Karofsky’s name, and he glances in the direction of the stairs before he can stop himself. He’s been wishing since the night of the game that he hadn’t told Puck...well, most of the truth, anyway, and now he’s pretty sure he’d do anything to take it back. Because Puck’s...well, he’s changed, certainly, but he still reacts without thinking, and Kurt doesn’t know if he can trust Puck to keep his secret.

Finn’s still talking, something about Schue and the two of them putting their idiotic heads together and deciding that Karofsky can somehow be rehabilitated if they can just convince him to join Glee permanently. Kurt’s stomach turns again at the thought, imagining showing up at Regionals with the Warblers and seeing Karofsky there, staring and smirking and just _existing_ , all with his stupid brother’s seal of approval.

“I told him there was no way the others would go for it until he made things right with you,” Finn says, and he sounds sort of desperate now. “I told him we could go see you at school and he could just say he was sorry, you know? I wouldn't even have brought it up with everybody else until you said it was okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Kurt hears himself say, but the thing is, he’s not even mad. He can’t be, because Finn doesn’t know the whole story. As far as he knows, Karofsky’s just another garden variety bully, and if Kurt can forgive Puck, there’s no reason he can’t forgive Karofsky too. Finn probably assumes that Karofsky would never actually try to kill him, and maybe he wouldn’t. But Kurt’s pretty sure he’d do something even worse, given the chance, and there's no song that’s going to make that okay.

“It doesn’t even matter,” Finn says. “Karofsky wasn’t interested. Look, Kurt, I wasn't trying to make things weirder for you or anything. I just thought maybe if we could just fix it, you could come back, you know? Things could go back to normal.”

“I know.” Kurt takes a deep breath and glances toward the stairs again, wondering just how far Puck’s gotten and what sort of idiotic petty crime he’ll commit to punish himself for something that doesn’t even have anything to do with him.

He turns away from Finn and heads for his own room, and he knows he hasn’t made Finn feel any better, but he doesn’t really care. He pulls his bedroom door open and lets himself in, then closes the door and shuts his eyes to lean back against it. Just for a second, until his heart stops pounding so hard he can hear it.

When he opens his eyes again Puck’s sitting on the edge of his bed, and Kurt’s heart starts pounding all over again. “I thought you’d left.”

“Thought about it," Puck says, then he runs a hand over his head and Kurt’s starting to recognize it as a nervous habit. “Maybe I should have.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

Kurt sets his bag down on his desk, then he slides his coat off and lays it carefully over the back of his chair. He takes more time than he needs to, probably, before he forces his gaze back to Puck again. He’s still watching Kurt, expression still stormy but there’s something else there too, and Kurt’s probably never read a signal right in his entire life, but if he’s wrong about this it’s going to hurt more than all those other times combined.

“When did you stop drinking?” he asks before he even realizes he’s thinking it, and Puck looks surprised for a second before he shrugs and relaxes, just a little.

“It’s part of my probation. They do random drug tests, so I had to lay off the steroids and the other stuff too.”

The fact that Puck was ever _on_ steroids explains a lot, but Kurt doesn’t point it out. He doesn’t ask what Puck means by ‘other stuff’, either. He knows about the pot, after the bake sale incident, but he’s not sure he wants to know about the rest of it.

“I’m surprised Coach Beiste doesn’t do random drug testing.”

“She does, but the School Board won’t let her watch us, so it’s easy enough to just buy somebody else’s piss and pass it off as yours,” Puck says, and Kurt’s not sure whether to be more horrified at the fact that Puck’s actually _done_ these things, or at the thought of spending money on someone else’s urine.

“It’s not his fault, you know. He doesn’t know. Nobody does, except for you and Blaine.”

For a second Puck’s eyes flash with the same anger Kurt saw in them a few minutes ago outside Finn’s room.

“I wouldn’t have walked out on the same field with him if I’d known. I would have fucking killed him, even if it meant going back to Juvie.”

Kurt believes him, or at least he believes that Puck believes it. He’s just not sure what makes him so important suddenly that Dave Karofsky’s life is in danger.

“Why?”

It’s a valid question, but it’s the wrong one. That much is apparent when Puck looks up at him, scowling and dark and that’s the Puck Kurt remembers from freshman year. The Puck he doesn’t see much at all anymore, and Kurt doesn’t really miss him.

“I gotta go,” Puck says, standing up suddenly and Kurt’s back is still pressed against the door, but he’s not stupid enough to think he can keep Puck there if he doesn’t want to stay. “Artie’s waiting for me.”

“Artie?” Kurt repeats, surprise clear in his voice and he doesn’t even care, because seriously, what the hell has been going on since he transferred? “Since when are you friends with Artie?”

“He’s on the team,” Puck says, like that explains anything. Then he’s moving forward and Kurt gets out of the way just in time to avoid the humiliation of Puck moving him out of the way.

“Puck,” he says, even though he knows it won’t do any good. And he’s right, because Puck doesn’t even break his stride before he’s gone, leaving Kurt frowning after him and wondering if anything about his life is ever going to make sense again.

~

He’s not surprised when he doesn’t see Puck again for the rest of the week. Finn’s not talking, of course, so Kurt calls Rachel and Mercedes just a little more often than usual and asks leading questions, just to make sure Puck hasn’t told anyone else about what may or may not have happened with Karofsky. Eventually they both get suspicious and refuse to tell him anything until he lets them in on whatever’s going on, so he stops talking to them too.

Finally he has to admit to himself that the only way to make sure Puck’s not going to run his mouth is to go straight to the source. And that’s the thing, because Kurt’s never contacted Puck before. They’ve spent a fair amount of time together since Christmas, but every time Kurt’s seen him it’s been because Puck showed up uninvited.

Kurt _has_ his phone number, only because he snuck into Finn’s room while Finn was in the shower and stole it out of Finn’s cell phone. He hasn’t worked up the courage to dial it yet, though, and the longer he goes without talking to Puck, the weirder it feels to call him out of the blue.

He considers going to Puck’s house, but finding out where he lives would require asking Finn, and Kurt knows better than to think Finn’s going to tell him without knowing why Kurt wants to know. There’s the option of waiting outside McKinley until he spots Puck, of course, but there’s no way Kurt’s going to confront him in public, especially while he’s essentially stalking Puck. So in the end he settles for a text; it seems harmless, and it’s easy enough for Puck to ignore him if he wants to.

It takes him half an hour to come up with the right message. That’s a record, he’s pretty sure, because Kurt Hummel is very rarely at a loss for words. And it’s not even a new situation for him, because he chased after Finn for months when he knew it was completely hopeless. Puck isn’t Finn, though, and somehow the thought of not even being Puck’s friend anymore is worse than definitive proof that Finn didn’t return his affections.

Finally he takes a deep breath and types six simple words:

 _I need to talk to you._

He’s about to press send when it dawns on him that Puck probably won’t even know who the text is from if he doesn’t put his name on it, so he adds _It’s Kurt_ at the beginning and presses send before he can talk himself out of it.

An hour goes by, then another, and Kurt doesn’t check his phone every five minutes, but he probably checks it every ten. He’s not even sure what he’s expecting; a terse _wut do u want?_ maybe, or even _forget it_ or possibly no answer at all. That’s the likeliest scenario, he realizes, and Kurt’s busy trying to resign himself to the fact that he might never hear from Puck again when his phone rings.

There’s no one in his room to see him dive for it, but he blushes anyway when he picks it up and looks at the display. When he sees Blaine’s name his heart sinks, and it strikes him how bizarre it is that just a month ago the same sight would have made his heart skip a beat. He considers ignoring it and making up some excuse later, but it’s not as though Puck’s going to call, and talking to Blaine might at least distract him from obsessing for a little while.

“Hi,” he says, trying and failing to sound more cheerful than he feels.

“Hi,” Blaine echoes, and Kurt can picture him frowning on the other end of the line. “Are you okay?”

“Fine, why do you ask?” Kurt answers, then he throws himself down on his bed to stare at the ceiling and does not let out a dramatic sigh.

“You just seemed pretty out of it all week at school. Plus you sound kind of funny. Did something happen?”

“No,” Kurt says, and it’s not a lie, exactly, because nothing happened, which is kind of the problem.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting to happen with Puck, because there’s no reason to think, after years of rampant heterosexuality, that suddenly he’s discovered he’s a little flexible after all. Except that Puck's been acting an awful lot like maybe _he’d_ like something to happen, and that’s the frustrating part, because Puck’s not exactly the kind of guy who holds back when he wants something. Then again, Puck’s not exactly the kind of guy who goes around kissing other guys, either.

“You’re sure,” Blaine says in that voice that says clearly that he already knows the answer.

“Yes,” Kurt lies anyway, because it’s not like he’s going to talk to _Blaine_ about this thing with Puck. He probably could, and Blaine might not even mind. He listened when Kurt wanted to talk about Karofsky, after all, and they barely knew each other then. But Kurt has a feeling Puck would mind, and that’s a good enough reason to keep his mouth shut.

“If you say so. So listen, do you want to go grab some coffee? There’s this acoustic group that plays at that place near school, one of the guys used to go to Dalton. He’s kind of cute.”

He should go. Kurt knows he should get out of the house, that he should try to put Puck out of his mind, because it’s pretty clear Puck’s not wasting a lot of time thinking about him. But the last thing he wants to do is hang out at some coffee house making small talk and pretending he cares about some lame band. What he wants...what he wants he can’t have, apparently, because it’s been hours and Puck still hasn’t bothered to answer him.

“I...” That’s as far as he gets before there’s a knock on his door, and Kurt pushes up on his elbows to tell whoever it is that he’s on the phone and he’ll be out in a minute. Before he gets the words out his door swings open, and instead of a member of his family invading his privacy, he finds himself frowning at Puck.

For a few beats Kurt just stares at him, phone pressed to his ear and when Blaine’s voice finally penetrates the sound of his pulse pounding against his eardrums, Kurt clears his throat and lifts the phone to his mouth again. “I have to go. I’ll call you back.”

He hangs up before Blaine can answer and drops the phone on the bed. Puck’s moving, taking a couple steps into the room before he kicks the door shut behind him. He’s looking right at Kurt, and when Kurt realizes _how_ he must look he blushes and scrambles into a sitting position. He moves to the edge of the bed as Puck crosses the room, but instead of pulling out the chair at Kurt’s vanity and swinging it around, Puck sits on the bed next to him.

“You said you wanted to talk,” Puck says.

He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees and not looking at Kurt anymore. He's not really touching Kurt either, but Kurt can feel the cold coming off him anyway, clinging to his clothes and making Kurt shiver.

“I wasn’t expecting you to come over.”

“I can leave if you want,” Puck says, voice sharp like the time he suggested Kurt go spy on Dalton in the first place.

Kurt’s first instinct is to snap right back, to tell Puck that Kurt doesn’t care what he does, but he has a feeling that’s what Puck’s expecting. He thinks maybe that’s what he’s used to hearing, so instead Kurt takes a breath and puts his hand on Puck’s arm.

“I want you to stay.”

For a second Puck stares down at his hand, and Kurt braces himself for the moment when Puck shakes him off and stands up anyway. But Puck doesn’t try to pull away or tell Kurt he’s got this all wrong. Instead he turns his head until he can see Kurt, jaw still tense but he’s not as closed down as he was the last time Kurt saw him.

“Why’d you bring him to the game?”

For a second Kurt has no idea who Puck’s talking about, but when it dawns on him that he means Blaine, Kurt blinks and pulls his hand away from Puck’s arm.

“It was him who suggested the girls could keep you from forfeiting. Well, sort of, anyway. He wanted to see them play, that’s all.”

“So it wasn’t, like, a date.”

“Puck, my father was sitting right next to me,” Kurt says, and he’s fighting hard against a smile, because it’s not like this would be the first time he misread someone’s signals. “Do you really think I’d bring my father on a date?”

Puck shrugs and looks at the door, like maybe he’s expecting Kurt’s dad to be standing there. “I wouldn’t mind. Burt's a cool guy.”

Kurt bites back the urge to suggest that Puck could just date his father, if he likes him so much, because ew, and anyway he has the feeling it’s not the moment for sarcasm. And it’s not like Puck’s dating _him_ either, at least not that Kurt’s aware of, so instead he keeps his mouth shut and waits.

"So what did you want to talk about so bad?” Puck asks, a little of the defensiveness creeping back into his voice. And Kurt can’t really blame him, because he’s feeling a little bit like he’s treading thin ice here too. But Puck actually showed up instead of ignoring him until this whole mess went away, and that’s something.

“What I told you about Karofsky...” Kurt pauses when Puck tenses next to him, but he doesn’t touch him again. “I need to know you’re not going to tell anyone. Not even Finn.”

As soon as he says it Puck scowls, and Kurt feels himself tense at the dark expression Puck turns on him. “That’s what you’re worried about? That I won’t keep Karofsky’s dirty little secret?”

“No.”

And it’s not, but it’s hard to think when he can tell how close Puck is to running out on him again, and Kurt knows if he lets that happen again Puck won’t come back next time.

"No, Puck, I’m worried that if he finds out you know he’ll try to kill _you_ , and then you’ll get sent back to prison when you turn him into a bloody smear on the locker room floor and it’ll be my fault.”

When Puck looks at him again he’s smiling a little, and Kurt swallows hard against the relief that floods through him. “Damn straight I would. That fat bastard isn’t even brave enough to face me without like five of his boys backing him up.”

Kurt allows himself a smile at that, and when Puck grins at him, Kurt’s heart skips a beat. "I just don’t want you getting in trouble because of me.”

“I’m not like him, you know,” Puck says, then he looks down at his hands again and Kurt finds himself frowning at the back of Puck’s head.

“I know that. Puck, I know that,” Kurt says, and this time he does reach out, his hand on Puck’s where they’re clasped together in front of him. It’s an even bigger risk than touching Puck’s arm, but it gets his attention, and that’s the point.

Puck doesn’t freak out this time, either. He just turns his hand in Kurt’s until their fingers are sliding together, then he’s staring down at Kurt’s hand in his. And just like that, Puck’s...holding his hand. No one’s done that since the day he first met Blaine, at least not outside of a performance. It fills his stomach with the same butterflies as holding Blaine’s hand that first time, but there’s a weird, curling warmth there too, and Kurt swallows hard and curls his fingers a little tighter around Puck’s.

“The other night, after the game," Puck says, still talking to their hands like maybe he’s afraid to look at Kurt, “when I saw him with you, I was pissed. And yeah, I was a little drunk when I decided to crash your room in the middle of the night. I came in here to tell you...fuck that, I came in here to _show_ you what I wanted. But then you flipped out, and I couldn’t go through with it. I don’t want you thinking I’m like him.”

The warmth in the pit of Kurt’s stomach tightens into something almost painful, and he clears his throat and shifts a little closer to Puck. They’re pressed together from their hips all the way to their knees, and Kurt’s heart is pounding so loud he’s sure Puck can hear it. But he’s not moving away, and he’s not asking what Kurt thinks he’s doing or telling him he’s got it all wrong, so Kurt figures he can’t be too far off the mark here.

“Do you really think I would have let you spend all that time hanging around in my room if I thought you were anything like that?”

“I guess not,” Puck says, like he’s never really thought about it before, and Kurt has to fight the urge to smack him, because sometimes he really is as dumb as he looks. Then Puck’s turning to look at him again, tugging one hand out of Kurt’s to reach out and slide a hand around the back of Kurt’s neck. He eases Kurt forward, moving slow like maybe he’s worried that if he goes too fast he’ll scare Kurt.

The thought makes him want to laugh, but when Puck’s lips brush his Kurt forgets what was so funny just a second ago. And he knows how much practice Puck’s got with kissing, so he expects him to be good at it. What he doesn’t expect is gentleness, the soft press of lips against his and the warmth of Puck’s palm on the back of his neck.

It’s nothing like the way Karofsky kissed him; that was harsh and demanding and kind of painful. It’s not even like kissing Brittany, and Kurt’s pretty sure she’s got at least as much practice as Puck. Brittany kissed him like she was trying to prove something, and Kurt supposes maybe she was. But Puck...Puck's kissing him like he can’t really believe it’s happening, and he’s afraid if he moves suddenly Kurt will notice and put a stop to it.

As soon as he thinks it Kurt flattens his hands on Puck’s chest and pushes him away, just far enough to look at him. “Are you sure about this? The last time I checked you were a card-carrying heterosexual.”

It’s kind of weird, watching Puck roll his eyes from close up, but when he grins Kurt can’t help smiling back at him.

“Give me a break, dude. I’ve made out with Zizes; she’s more of a guy than either of us.”

Kurt doesn’t waste the energy pointing out how completely sexist that is, because the fact remains that it’s kind of true. He’s not even sure Lauren would disagree, not that he’d ever be foolish enough to ask her.

“New rule,” he says instead, but Puck’s already pushing him backwards onto his own bed, so Kurt’s not positive he’s in a position to make rules here. “No calling me ‘dude’ while we’re making out.”

Puck laughs, warm against his cheek, then pulls back to look down at him. “Can I call you babe?”

Kurt’s first instinct is to say no, mostly because it’s just so _obvious_. But it’s Puck, and he has a way of making the obvious sort of charming.

“It’s negotiable,” Kurt finally answers, then he slides his arms around Puck’s neck and pulls him forward. “I’ll think about it.”

“You do that, babe,” Puck says, then he kisses Kurt again, and Kurt thinks maybe he doesn’t hate it all that much.


End file.
